Theatre and Culture from Scotland, starring The List's Theatre Editor, his performance persona and occasional guest stars. Experimental writings, cod-academic critiques and all his opinions, stolen or original.

Monday, 5 June 2017

Chekhov's Gun

ALEXANDER SEREBRAKOFF, a retired professor
HELENA, his wife, twenty-seven years old
SONIA, his daughter by a former marriage
MME. VOITSKAYA, widow of a privy councilor, and mother of Serebrakoff's
first wife
IVAN (VANYA) VOITSKI, her son
MICHAEL ASTROFF, a doctor
ILIA (WAFFLES) TELEGIN, an impoverished landowner
MARINA, an old nurse
A WORKMAN
The scene is laid on SEREBRAKOFF'S country place

A country house on a terrace. In front of it a garden. In an avenue of
trees, under an old poplar, stands a table set for tea, with a samovar,
etc. Some benches and chairs stand near the table. On one of them is
lying a guitar. A hammock is swung near the table. It is three o'clock
in the afternoon of a cloudy day.

The King snakes his way through the comedies of Chekhov, into Pere Ubu (the secret puppet-master behind the usurpers and conspirators), slipping across the surface of the DADA cabaret and never coming to rest. Schechner's description of theatre as ritual (or should that be vice-versa?) hints at the true purpose of art in the twentieth century: a desperate attempt to bind the demon that has entered into our reality via a single invocation.

Chekhov's Gun - a formulation that attempts to remind theatre-makers that economy of dramaturgy is important - points to a darker truth: that which is present, has meaning. Art contains a surfeit of meaning, and nothing is without resonance. This could be the gift of the King, a refusal of randomness and the inability to discard anything as irrelevant.

Absurd opinions, extended reviews, random press releases from The Arts, half baked ideas, unsuccessful experiments with the format of criticism. Brought to you by the host of The Vile Arts Radio Hour and former Theatre Editor of The Skinny, now working with The List